


and the clock strikes midnight

by fantastiken



Category: VIXX
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-14
Updated: 2016-04-14
Packaged: 2018-06-02 05:18:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6552586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fantastiken/pseuds/fantastiken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Taekwoon has a secret. It's a pretty lie that no one knows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	and the clock strikes midnight

**Author's Note:**

> cw for drug use (and death??)

Taekwoon has a secret. It's a pretty lie that no one knows. 

He likes walking by himself on the highway. Every other night he takes the subway at sundown, the crowded line number three, and gets down at Oksu. At the other end of the river he can always see Apgujeong, bright and alive in an almost defiant way. 

Like a shadow, sleek and invisible in the night, Taekwoon steps out of the station. And just like that, he jumps into the road shoulder and starts walking. 

Sometimes, he picks the first exit and goes back to the city early. Other times, he walks for hours. Taekwoon walks and his shoes scrape the asphalt; his feet tease the gravel, still warm from the daylight hours. It's automatic, how he does it as he searches, searches, searches, incessant and stubborn. 

Taekwoon doesn't always find what he's looking for on his trips. He's most of the time scared. It's dangerous, what he does, and he's a little gone but not completely stupid. His hands hide away in the pockets of his ratty leather jacket and he feels the little plastic bag, now empty, on his fingertips. The fear recedes, if only a little, at the memory of the bits of white dust the pills left behind. 

The unforgiving wind has no mercy on him. It threatens to steal the air out of his lungs in gushing gasps, as the city lights try to blind him —too bright, too much. It's never dark enough for Taekwoon, although that's quite ironic since he's pretty much become a shadow himself. He blinks away tears but doesn't bother shielding his face from the wind. He doesn't try to zip up his jacket, doesn't tuck his thin sweater in his pants so it doesn't flutter wildly around his frame, either. It's cold. It isn't. 

It’s been hours— days, months, years— since Taekwoon started walking. He finally stops at the bridge, where the highway crosses over another wide, empty road. Not a single car has driven by tonight as of yet. The silence is oppressive, almost too much, but Taekwoon enjoys it. He looks up and his steps come to a halt when he spots what— who— he's been looking for leaning on the railing. 

“What took you so long.” Wonsik sounds serious, almost harsh, but a tiny smile belies his gruff demeanor. His eyes remain trained to the road below. Far, far away. 

“Sorry, I–” 

“S’alright.” 

Wonsik seems unaffected by the wind that is now beating against them more violently, there in the open. Taekwoon’s eyes roam over Wonsik slowly. He’s not scared anymore, and his hands aren’t safe in his pockets either. Instead they grip the railing, cold and rusty, and suddenly Taekwoon feels too small for his body but too big in his skin at the same time. He’s so full he’s going to burst; however, he doesn’t tell Wonsik. He doesn’t really need to. 

“Have you ever thought that there’s probably other people in the world who have your name?” Wonsik doesn’t look at him yet, gaze rather focused on a nonexistent horizon at the other end of the world. 

Taekwoon glances at him, still, awaiting. His heart is pounding. _Never thought of it._

“Does that bother you?” is what he finally says, although he’s certain the wind swallows his words way before they reach Wonsik’s ears. 

Wonsik answers, though. “Nah,” he says, nonchalant. “It doesn’t matter that we share a name. I’m still me and they aren’t. I clearly win.” 

His amused chuckle is too clear, ringing sharp through the air even though Taekwoon can’t even hear his own thoughts. Taekwoon can barely see Wonsik in the dim light; however, his features seem to pop up in the darkness as if illuminated by a thousand light bulbs. It’s unnatural, out of place. Taekwoon grips the railing harder and bites the inside of his cheek when a rush of heat sends him toppling down to the floor all of a sudden. Gravel pierces the skin of his knees, ripped jeans not the greatest shield, and Taekwoon can barely register that fleeting thought before he lurches forward and throws up. 

When he looks up with bleary eyes, Wonsik is nowhere to be seen. Taekwoon sighs and waits patiently for the rush of bitter tears that takes over him not even seconds later. 

Taekwoon has a secret. That secret, though, is the ugly truth that everyone knows already.


End file.
